318. Song—The Banks o' Doon (Third Version)

 YE banks and braes o’ bonie Doon,
 How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
 And I sae weary fu’ o’ care!
Thou’ll break my heart, thou warbling bird,
 That wantons thro’ the flowering thorn:
Thou minds me o’ departed joys,
 Departed never to return.



Aft hae I rov’d by Bonie Doon,
 To see the rose and woodbine twine:
And ilka bird sang o’ its Luve,
 And fondly sae did I o’ mine;
Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose,
 Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree!
And may fause Luver staw my rose,
 But ah! he left the thorn wi’ me.

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